


Forty-Five Minutes of Hedonism

by Kienova



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty-five minutes was more than enough time to throw caution to the wind. Who needed the bourgeoisie anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andnowsomeonenew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowsomeonenew/gifts).



He had been trying to work. There were papers spread across the antique desk in the office, allowing him the space he needed to spread out his thoughts. His hair fell into his eyes, making it hard for him to concentrate. He knew he needed a haircut, but had found it nearly impossible to find enough time to run down to the barber. Part of him wanted to just have Shelagh cut it for him, but she had enough pressure on her at the moment.

He groaned, leaning his elbows against the desk and resting his head in his hands as he read over the journal article in front of him again, trying to memorise the important bits. He closed his eyes, sighing, as he heard the door to the office open, Shelagh’s footsteps tapping against the tiles as she moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Shelagh,” he breathed, letting the side of his head rest against her temple for a moment. “I’m working,” he muttered. As much as he desperately wanted to just fall into the waiting arms of his wife, he knew he needed to finish reading these new notes over. They were studies on drugs that were alternative to Thalidomide that had academic evidence to support their safe use during pregnancy.

“Don’t be so bourgeoisie,” Shelagh scolded light-heartedly, kissing his cheek as she skimmed her fingers over his collarbones, moving them precariously close to his tie which she soon began to loosen.

“We are bourgeoisie,” he countered, looking at her in his periphery.

“Couldn’t we take time off? Be wanton hedonists for an hour?” she teased. “We have received some good news,” she added, half under her breath. He caught the words regardless but didn’t press her for them, so content to just feel her resting against his back. She had been just as distraught recently, her playful behaviour that appeared behind the doors of their flat having dissipated almost overnight in the wake of such horrors. Now, however, it seemed as if it was coming back and he was wary to push her away. “So,” she whispered, kissing his neck, “we should celebrate.” He couldn’t help but smile at her, the wicked little temptress that she was. He reached around his side, yanking her carefully until she fell into his lap, laughing in the silence of the office.

“Very well. But only for forty-five minutes,” he admonished, one hand tangling into her hair.

“That doesn’t sound very wanton,” she breathed, voice hitching as she felt him kiss behind her ear, latching onto the skin and biting it, undoing her hair pins at the same time.

“Haven’t started yet,” he murmured, laving the same patch of skin with tongue and teeth until she moaned. He lifted her from his lap then, placing her backside onto the wooden surface of the desk, standing up so that he towered over her, a hand now resting on either side of her hips. The papers behind her, the ones he had been so desperate to read, made a crackling noise, causing her to jump slightly.

“Doctor Turner, just what debauchery do you think we’re going to get up to?” she asked, breathless. He rolled his eyes before lowering his head down to hers and kissing her firmly on the lips, her arms almost instantly going around his neck. She was about to ask another question, inquire if they should make sure the door was locked when he interrupted her, choosing that moment to grab her breast, palming it gently through the fabric of her nurse’s uniform. She whimpered softly, biting her bottom lip. “Is… isn’t this a bit… public?” she panted, already feeling her head getting light. Patrick looked her in the eyes, brown meeting blue, as he shrugged.

“Do you want me to stop?” he growled in her ear, hand sliding up her thigh, nails scraping along the delicate flesh that rested above the edge of her nylons, fingers playing with the clasp of her garter.

 “That’s not what I meant!” she rushed, grip tightening on his shoulders, causing him to chuckle as he suddenly moved his hands to her hips, picking her up without warning and flipping her over, rough and yet so careful at the same time, ensuring that she wasn’t hurt in the process. Shelagh gasped, having not anticipated such a movement, her husband crowding up behind her as her breasts pressed against the wood, papers crinkling beneath her. His hands were against her thighs again, pushing her skirt up until it rested around her hips. His fingers followed quickly, slipping underneath the fabric of her knickers and along her womanhood, making her groan. She couldn’t help but grab at the surface beneath her at the feeling of him pressing his digits inside her, papers crumpling in her fists.

“This enough wanton hedonism for you?” he asked, leaning over her and pressing his trouser covered erection into her backside. Shelagh felt a shiver run down her spine, feeling the wetness pooling between her legs and soaking the fabric that still partially covered her.  

“Not quite,” she admitted, a low noise escaping her at the feeling of his fingers playing with her, teasing her until she was almost rabid with desire.  “Stop teasing me,” Shelagh mumbled, her mind spinning as he drove her higher and higher in her arousal. When she had come into the office she had thought she might convince him to look away from his work long enough for a kiss and some tea, a snog at the most. This, albeit extremely enjoyable, had not been on her mind.  

She moaned, her eyes clenched shut as Patrick added another finger, twisting the digits slightly as he moved them in and out of her. She felt him move away from her before she heard him slipping to the ground, taking his fingers out of her and replacing them with his tongue, making her hips jump. His tongue passed over her opening, moving up until it was on her clit, rotating in small circles against the bundle of nerves there. Moving back down to her centre, he nipped at her, prodding her with a finger again before his mouth resumed its upward motion, latching onto her clit and sucking. Hard.

 “I… ahhh….oh _God_ ,” she groaned, fingers clutching at the edge of the surface as her body started to shudder, tipping her over into orgasm without warning. She felt him continue to lap at her as she rode it out, his fingers slowing as she collapsed onto the desk.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, kissing her shoulder as he stood up.

“We... we... we still have twenty six minutes,” she finally managed to get out through her still ragged breaths. Patrick grinned down at her, reaching down and undoing his trousers. She bit her lip while she waited, unable to contain her desire for him.  

“I’ve been thinking about doing this all day,” he hissed into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Maybe not here, in this room, but I have wanted nothing more than to have my way with you since this morning. You looked so gorgeous in that nightgown you were wearing last night. The way the sun was catching your hair while you sat at the vanity. If I hadn’t had calls to make I wouldn’t have let you leave the bed,” he breathed, trousers and pants now pushed down around his knees as he crowded up against her, leaning over her.

“Oh?” she giggled, breathless, feeling him pressing into her centre.

“I always want you Shelagh,” he said, thrusting into her then, making her gasp as her thighs hit the edge of the desk. She felt his fingers press into her hips as he started to move, his pace slow and measured, dragging out every ounce of pleasure he could from her in that moment.

“Oh, oh please,” she panted, not used to how it felt to have him at this angle. He was lighting sparks along nerve endings that she hadn’t felt before, sweat breaking out on her skin at the sensation. For his part, Patrick grit his teeth, feeling as if her muscles were trying to draw him in impossibly deeper, a grunt falling from his lips.  “Faster, please, faster,” she begged.

He seemed to agree with the comment, starting to thrust into her with increasing vigour, his eyes skimming over the vision of his wife. Splayed across the desk, arse in the air, skirt about her hips and garter belt a startling contrast to the colour of her skin as he entered her over and over. He had never seen something so arousing, wanting to engrain the image permanently into his mind. How he could see perspiration on the back of her neck, wayward strands of hair clinging to her flesh. How the points of contact where his fingers pressed into her were almost white from pressure. How she was grabbing anything she could to steady herself, hips rolling against his as she chased her own pleasure.

 One hand slid from her hips, going to her shoulder and pulling her chest off the desk so that he could press his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss, their movements shaky and frantic as Shelagh balanced them both with one hand still firmly on the wood. Without warning she let out a small scream, body convulsing as her release hit her.

 “Oh God,” Patrick groaned, clinging to her as he emptied himself inside her. Carefully he braced his hands on the desk, legs trembling as he pulled out of her, collapsing back into his chair with a winded laugh. Shelagh panted, stumbling slightly as she managed to climb back onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her. “Still five minutes to spare,” he stated, kissing her sweaty temple. Shelagh giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

“Suppose that’s enough time for a little cuddle then,” she suggested, curling her body into his as he stroked a hand up and down her back.

“Darling, you said we needed to celebrate something,” he murmured, hating that he could feel himself drifting off. He still had work to do, the papers, now creased and worn for his wife’s body, demanding to be read and memorised.

“Yes,” she replied, sleep tinting her own voice.

“What is it?” he queried, curiosity suddenly filling him as he felt her place a kiss to his neck.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they had made it home from the surgery Shelagh had been practically falling asleep against his side. Patrick smiled, gently helping her out of her coat before he all but carried her upstairs and to their bed, lying her on the mattress so that he could take her shoes off, followed by her uniform. She muttered an apology to him, already drifting as he unpinned her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he carefully slid her under the covers. In the back of his mind he still knew he should have finished reading the health reports on two new medications, but he had been easily swayed to return home due to the sleepy warmth of his wife curled on his lap, both of their clothes still askew from their lovemaking. Instead, he had agreed when she requested that they go home, relishing in the feeling of her pliant against him as he drove them the short distance back to their flat, her fingers playing with the lapels of his coat the entire way.

As he crawled into bed next to her, having changed out of his clothes from work, he grinned, feeling her curl into his chest even in her slumber.

“Love you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and looping an arm around her waist, stroking over her back, adoring the feeling of her soft skin against his fingers. She made a sound in reply, already so far under that she couldn’t form the words, but he knew she was responding in kind as he fell into his own state of rest.

* * *

 

He awoke a few hours later, the house still in darkness, to find his wife missing from their bed. Her nightgown and robe had been taken from the back of the chair near the vanity, revealing that she was still in the flat but he worried none the less. Creeping from his side of the bed he went down the hall, following the soft lilt he could hear coming from Angela’s room.

“And I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High. I will remember the works of the Lord: surely I will remember thy wonders of old. I will meditate also of all thy work, and talk of thy doings. Thy way, O God, is in the sanctuary: who is so great a God as our God? Thou art the God that doest wonders: thou hast declared thy strength among the people. Thou hast with thine arm redeemed thy people, the sons of Jacob and Joseph. Selah.” Patrick leaned against the doorjamb, watching Shelagh sing to Angela, rocking the toddler as she paced back and forth across the floor, occasionally placing a kiss on the little girl’s head between verses of the psalm, lulling her back to sleep with practiced ease.

“Are you all right?” he whispered once Shelagh placed Angela back in the cot, tucking the toddler under her blanket.

“She’s just had a wee nightmare, nothing more than that. I think she’s still getting used to sleeping in her own room,” Shelagh replied, easily folding herself into his chest as he wrapped her in a hug.

“Are you sure it isn’t you that is still getting used to it?” he teased, kissing her temple before leading her back to bed, helping her out of her dressing gown.

“Maybe a little,” she confessed, yawning as she sprawled out on the mattress, smiling when Patrick draped himself across her back, gently tugging her until she was aligned perfectly with him. “I like having a little one here with us,” she murmured, lacing their fingers together.

“I know,” he replied, already feeling himself being pulled back to sleep. “I did too.”

* * *

When he wakes again the sun is rising, reaching the annoying position in its journey that cast rays directly from the window and into his face. It isn’t the light that startles him awake, however, its Shelagh scrambling from the bed, her nightdress whipping behind her. It takes him a moment to realise that Angela isn’t crying, the house still sitting in the period between night and dawn and that his wife’s quick departure is of her own volition. A split second later, however, he realises that there was no choice in the matter, as the sounds of retching echo through the wall between the bedroom and the lavatory. He’s on his feet immediately, ducking into the hall before pushing the bathroom door open. Shelagh was sitting on the floor, her forehead propped in her hand, elbow resting on the seat of the toilet. She was pale and trembling, looking miserable.

“Oh Darling,” he breathed, kneeling down next to her and drawing a hand across her back. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” She cast him a withering look which is only dulled by the fact that she’s squinting, trying to make out his features without her glasses.

“Nothing you can do for this,” she replied, lurching forward again, gagging. It takes a moment, but when she sits back she sighed, grabbing some tissue to wipe her mouth before struggling to her feet.

“Shelagh, it’s all right if you need a moment,” Patrick urged, wrapping an arm around her hips as she reached for her toothbrush.

“No, I’m fine now, I promise,” she answered, giving him a shaky smile around her toothbrush, leaning back into his chest as he stood behind her, thumb stroking her hip bone as she brushed. She spat the toothpaste into the sink a second later, eyes closed as she rested against him again. “It’s been like this all week. Twice in quick succession in the morning and then I’m fine,” Shelagh explained.

“Shelagh, that’s not fine. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he demanded, worry and ire warring within him at her confession.

“Because, Patrick, nothing is wrong,” she said.

“Nothing – Shelagh, you’ve been getting sick for days and you –” He stopped in the middle of his sentence, noticing how she’d taken his hand and rested it on her stomach. Its small, almost unnoticeable, but he could feel the minute swelling beneath his palm. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes snapping down to her abdomen in the mirror, fingers shakily undoing the buttons of her nightdress that covered her midriff until he could push the fabric aside a little, marvelling at the sight in front of him. “Are you sure?” he managed to ask.

“Yes,” she replied, a giggle escaping her. “I’ve been to see Ted Horringer, he’s been using something called an ultrasound that was developed in Glasgow. He seemed just as shocked as I was to find that... that I’m pregnant,” she rambled, heart racing at finally saying the words aloud. “That’s where I was yesterday, getting the results of the tests he ran before I came to the surgery.” She had been stunned the entire day, intending to tell Patrick the previous evening when they had succumbed to their pleasure in his office.

Patrick spun her around so that they were facing each other, one hand on her waist and the other cupping her cheek.

“We’re having a baby?” he asked, watching as she nodded, tears gathering on her lashes as she smiled up at him.

“Yes,” she confirmed, letting out a peal of laughter as he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a tight circle. He kissed her frantically the minute she was back on her feet, his hand going back to the opening in her nightgown, his fingers moving back and forth across the little bump.

“How long?”

“About fifteen weeks. I thought something was amiss about a month ago, but I just put it down to stress. When I started feeling ill at the same time every day I just... part of me knew. I was so scared Patrick, I didn’t want to be wrong. I know the statistics about someone with my history getting pregnant and to have that gift given to us...”

“Oh Shelagh,” he said, trying to fight off his own emotions as he rested their foreheads together, a low laugh escaping him. “I guess we did have something to celebrate last night,” he whispered, making her giggle again.  

That was how Timothy and Angela found them a moment later, Tim letting out a groan at the sight.

“It’s not even eight o’clock. And its a Saturday,” he groused, rubbing a hand over his eyes and making his parents laugh, Angela looking up at them all with a confused expression, her doll trailing along the floor behind her.

“Mumma, baby?” Angela asked, holding the doll up to her, making Patrick bite his lip in order to control the smile that wanted to erupt on his face.

“Not yet little one,” Shelagh chuckled, crouching down next to the toddler. “That’s your baby doll. Mumma’s baby is still in her belly.” Timothy’s jaw dropped at the words, his eyes snapping to his father’s face, looking for confirmation. Patrick gave him a nod, no longer in control of his features as he grinned.

“Mum! That’s brilliant!”  


End file.
